


Believe in the Sword

by sensitive_pigeon



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Witcher, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Braverly Earp, Eventual Smut, F/F, Mutual Pining, No need to be familiar with the Witcher, Slow Burn, Wayhaught Witcher AU, Witcher!Nicole, lotsa action, shae is bae, world building, wynsita RISE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:01:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26286097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitive_pigeon/pseuds/sensitive_pigeon
Summary: Years ago, Nicole Haught of Lyria left Toussaint (and Waverly Earp) behind. But when a contract from the Duke himself forces her to reconnect with her past and kindle old flames, Nicole and Waverly face off over a secret that could tear them both apart.
Relationships: Waverly Earp & Nicole Haught, Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 50
Kudos: 112





	1. They Never Stop Killing

**Author's Note:**

> _“I don't believe in Melitele, don't believe in the existence of other gods either...you ask what I believe in, in that case. I believe in the sword.”_
> 
> hey let's fly by the seat of our pants into a Witcher!AU !! this is a good idea!!
> 
> anyway you may ask me "what about leyline, that was your witcher au --"
> 
> but yes. that is true. but here i am, writing an actual witcher au
> 
> special thanks to @Haughtpocket and @iamthegaysmurf for beta!
> 
> more tags to be added as chapters arrive. please note that a lot of the fight scenes are pretty graphic and there are sexual themes/scenes so proceed with caution
> 
> or don't, i am not the police
> 
> you: Pigeon!!! you cant just write dark/mysterious tragic backstory nicole in everything!!!  
> me: haha keyboard go brrr
> 
> btw there shall be no Shae hate here. She is bae and ships Wayhaught 
> 
> Silver for monsters,  
> Steel for humans,  
> Seed for pigeons.  
> [@Sensitivepigeon](https://twitter.com/sensitivepigeon)

_Moondust and raw blood._

Nicole Haught stood among the other clothed supplicants, hands templed before them in prayer. The witch at the head gutted open a wolf, spilling gore onto the altar that shone black under the full moon. The crowd huddled against the night, closer to the ceremonial pyre, fear riding on their backs and slumping shoulders until it was all they could do to hold in their collective screams.

_“We call thee, ancient spirit!”_

A distant shriek. With cat-like eyes, Nicole scanned the treeline for motion against the night breeze. Dark figures erupted into the shadows closing in on the group, cutting off escape even as the crowd begged for mercy through the witch.

 _“We would live in harmony!”_ the witch continued to intone, bloodied hands raised to the sky as she prostrated herself on the altar. _“We offer that which we have to give, that which would sate your untold desires and allow us peace within these wilds!”_

The writhing mass of darkness proceeded to take form. Wolves of smoke circled the crowd as crows flocked to branches.

_“Let us offer thee thine greatest desires!”_

The witch’s voice cracked with desperation. 

Nicole breathed through gritted teeth, gauntlets flexing. These _fools._ They had set themselves up as a banquet feast. Rushing into the woods with a fancy of satiating the creature that lived inside with petty rituals and pleading words, not knowing that the tales whispered in stories and haunting lullabies were accurate, and even worse -- a _warning._

Unheeded, now. 

The wolves approached and the crowd pressed further against the pyre, murmurs rising.

Nicole reached under her cloak, her poorly hidden hilts rising from her back. Her fingers danced along the line of one…

_Steel for humans…_

No. Her grip flexed, hardening on the next.

_...Silver for monsters._

With one smooth motion, her cloak fell away and her silver blade met the air. The crowd rushed aside, screaming in surprise, as Nicole whirled to face the leaping onslaught of wolves.

The first fell with a stuttered howl. The second collapsed soundlessly under a decapitating strike. Nicole spun into the next and cut through tough hide like paper.

_“Witcher!”_

A startled shriek. Nicole turned and freed a villager from a wolf grabbing at her ankle with a vicious downward cut across the beast. The villager fled to the others, no thanks on her lips. 

As was expected.

Nicole pivoted on her heel and drove her blade point-first into another predator. A mass slammed into her back, sending her tumbling to the ground before she pulled a dagger and began to stab. Over. And over. Fury sent her own cry from her lips to meet the growling creature above her as teeth dug deep into her flesh and _tore._

The howls subsided.

Nicole heaved the wolf from her and stood, steady on two feet even as her shoulder ran red. Her sword dripped with fresh blood, and she spat at the ground, anger broiling in her veins until she could barely hold herself back from shrieking with bloodlust. 

Soundless, the spirit of the woods came forth.

Nicole bared her teeth at it, snarling, raising her blade in a readied stance as her cat medallion thumped against her chest. 

“Spirit!” cried the witch, stumbling forward. “Spirit, _we beg you --”_

It slapped her aside, sending the witch sailing into the dark.

The woodland spirit rose before Nicole, its heaving body of bark crackling and curling as it sank both of its hands beneath into the soil. Its deer-skull head tilted slightly before snapping with the power to command nature.

The ground heaved and Nicole leaped into a side roll, gauntlets digging into soil as she crouched, cat-like, and struck forward with unnatural speed. 

It howled, turning, and met her silver blade with a raised arm. Useless. It fell away from its body. 

Mist coalesced around the creature as it attempted to sink within, to hide, to flee -- but Nicole was faster, tossing a moondust bomb straight at its hideous, raw bone face. It exploded, and the creature shrieked in fury.

Nicole matched the sound, the feeling, the pure rage searing beneath her skin as she swung upward to meet the bulk of the Leshy. 

It dodged, as expected --

But right into Nicole’s _Igni._

Flame met the air as Nicole’s gesture completed, the sign activating a plume of fire directly at the Leshy’s vulnerable form.

Howls broke the air from all around. The crows snapped into flight, swarming upward at the death of the primordial spirit. Remaining wolves turned and vanished into the woods.

The Leshy flailed in anguish, stumbling, before Nicole ended its plight with a single stroke of her silver sword. 

All became silent. Nicole’s panting seemed thunderous in the quiet. A storm lingered within, cutting lines of emotions that stung with every breath. The unending urge to keep _fighting,_ keep _killing..._

Focus. Mastery. Nicole settled the storm, promising to unleash it later. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.

The villagers lifted the witch from where she had fallen, casting wary glances at the Witcher. Once on her feet, the witch pointed --

_“You!”_

Nicole swallowed her emotions behind a mask and slid her sword back into her sheath.

_“Witcher!”_

Nicole turned, face blank.

“You would disrupt the ritual and slay the spirit of the woods!” the witch accused, bony finger pointing. The villagers’ faces slowly fell from fear to fury. “Leave! Leave, Witcher!”

Nicole left without a word.

_Just another day at work._

  
  


* * *

  
  


“What happened?”

Fingers trailed over Nicole’s chest, teasing at the line of her scars. Her medallion rose and fell with each steady breath, while her partner was struggling to catch hers. Firelight and bare skin. 

Nicole shifted away at the question, but a hand caught her jaw.

“What _happened?”_ Shae asked a second time.

“Cast from a village again.” Nicole leaned on an elbow, eyes flicking over Shae. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Yes.” Shae gave Nicole’s cheek a pat. “You’ve been requested.”

“Requested?” Nicole’s question became distant as she leaned in, hands ghosting over Shae’s hip, but Shae stopped her with a hand on her chest. Nicole groaned and fell back onto the furs. 

“Toussaint. The Duke wants you.”

“Fuck the Duke.” Nicole rubbed at her face. “Find another Witcher.”

“He wants you, _Cat.”_

“Damn that nickname,” Nicole muttered, releasing an exhausted sigh. “What does he want?”

“Find his wife, kill some monsters, save the world. You know, the usual.”

Nicole groaned. Her mind flew back to the past, images flashing that she quickly put away before her emotions caught up and overturned her restraint. 

A woman, a summer, a meadow.

Nothing but ash now.

“I’m not going,” Nicole said, voice firm. “Again, I say: Fuck the Duke.”

“Get dressed. Fully,” Shae ordered.

“Why?”

“Just do it. We’re going out.”

Nicole rolled out of bed and began the arduous process of reassembling herself. Chain mail and light leather soon hid her lithe body and the scars that criss-crossed her skin. Her eyes flicked to Shae, who watched her with dark eyes as the flame’s light flickered across her alluring form.

Damn.

“You look good in blue,” Shae murmured before rising, casting a blanket over herself. She came in close, adjusting the snug leather jerkin, fiddling with the straps, running fingers through Nicole’s long red hair.

Nicole slung her swords on her back and grabbed her pack, huffing a sigh.

“Now what?” she asked tiredly. 

“Now -- _this.”_

Shae shoved her into a portal and Nicole fell back, shouting, into another realm.

“I’ll send your horse after!” Shae promised before the portal closed.

  
  
  
  
  


_“Fuuuuuuck!”_

  
  
  


Nicole slapped cobblestone and skidded forward a few yards, hissing obscenities before the Duke of Toussaint. The portal shut behind her, leaving her caged within the grand palace and surrounded by armed knights. It was hard to appreciate the beauty of the elven-wrought spires when she had just been shoved screaming through the beyond.

“Welcome, Witcher,” the Duke drawled, moving from the alcove and handing off a flask of wine. He gestured his knights back. “Welcome to--”

“Gods damn it, Shae,” Nicole spat, standing and dusting herself off. “Toussaint, right?”

“...Yes, and I--”

“Duke Earp.” Nicole gave the approximation of a bow, a guess of respect. Old grudges die hard. “How can I be of assistance?”

The Duke paused, inspecting her closely. Nicole hoped Shae had left no visible marks. He stepped closer, an arm gesturing to the outside of the palace and the wilds beyond, his face hard even as he begged her assistance. 

Nicole bit back snark, barring anger behind her teeth. The Cat School initiation left her emotions unchecked, unmanageable. It was by grace she managed not to draw steel on the man who had driven her from his lands so long ago.

“My wife has gone missing,” he said, a smirk rising as he noted the fury lurking behind her eyes. “And _you’re_ going to find her.”

“And why, pray tell, would I do that?” Nicole gritted through her teeth.

The knights arranged arms at Nicole’s sweeping gaze and the rising of the Duke’s chin. 

“It’s been hard for you, Witcher, hasn’t it?” The Duke’s smug smile held full rein. “Rewards untold await you. Treasure, women, you name it.”

Nicole’s gaze met one hidden in the shadow of the alcove and the world froze. The Duke continued to speak, but Nicole didn’t hear it. She heard nothing but the roar within her veins, the rush of emotion crashing down onto her until she nearly broke beneath the force of it. 

_“Haven’t you something better to do?” Waverly asked, a dandelion tickling Nicole’s cheek as she turned to look at her, to grasp her hand, to hold onto some thin line of whatever had blossomed between them._

_Nicole sat up slightly, smiling. “No.”_

_“Why waste your time here?” Waverly flicked Nicole’s nose with the flower. “You came upon me like a storm, Witcher, and I’m not sure if I should indulge you any further.”_

_“Well, when I see something I like,” Nicole whispered, leaning in and hovering over Waverly, close enough for their breaths to mingle. Waverly’s words caught in her throat, hazel eyes flicked to Nicole’s lips and a pounding began, a thundering in Nicole’s mind. “I don’t wanna wait.”_

Waverly’s gaze fell from hers and Nicole felt winded. 

“Anything,” the Duke promised, watching her closely. _“Anything at all.”_

Nicole slid her eyes to him, his victorious expression, his lordly robes and filthy soul. 

_Find her mother. You owe her that._

_You owe her a lot of things._

“Fine,” Nicole said evenly. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent,” the Duke remarked with a clap of his hands. He gestured to his servants as Nicole looked for any sign of Waverly. No use. She was gone. “You’ll be rooming in the palace, Witcher.”

“No.” Nicole shook her head, already peeling from his side. The chance of crossing paths with Waverly was too much to endure. “I’ll be in town.”

“Tomorrow at sunrise, Witcher!” the Duke called after her. “We shall discuss your contract!”

  
  


Moonlight dawned across the sprawling city of Beauclair, lighting colorful rooftops and stained windows until they shone. Painted houses lined cobble streets and open patios where folk of all types gathered to drink wine and pass time as fountains burbled laughter. Wildlife bloomed in decorative shades across the city, bringing with it the dreams of the meadows and forests of the outside.

The Elven spires of the palace did not loom, did not overshadow, the tremendous beauty of the river and lake below. It matched it in a gorgeous symphony of shining white marble and red roofing, rising like an enchanted woman from the center of the cliff.

The land of fairy-tales and dreams. The land of blood and wine.

It was not that Nicole _hated_ Tussaint -- no, quite the opposite. But it was the density of memories that robbed her of her generous feelings for the place. Tainted, now, with thoughts of hard decisions and betrayal.

Her betrayal.

Nicole shook the memories from her mind as she approached a tavern. She came in with the wind, snuffing out conversation as she did so. Suspicious eyes and grave faces turned her way, urging her to leave.

Nicole did not.

Nicole strode up to the tavernkeeper and the keeper nodded, gesturing.

“Horse showed up through a portal. That yours, Witcher?”

“Yep,” Nicole offered. Shae had always been true to her word. “Room available?”

He screwed up his face as if he was about to say no before he relented. 

“Heard you're a guest of the palace, then. Ain’t right declinin’ the Duke’s decree. Come on, Witcher. We’ll set you up real nice.”

Nicole nodded thanks as the keeper called for a servant to see to her. Her remaining packs were sent up to a small room on the second floor that overlooked the streets below. Once inside, behind a door, Nicole let out an explosive sigh.

Tomorrow would come.

For now, sleep.

Nicole lay awake for long hours as the moon slipped over the horizon. She thought of memories, of times past, and of a brunette who stole her heart.  
  


The rise of the sun broke over the city, and Nicole had already eaten, washed, and prepared to meet with the Duke a second time. Sleep had been fitful, difficult. Here in Toussaint, ghosts clung to her with every step and every breath.

Here, a place where they’d drink and talk for hours.

There, a place where they stole a kiss, a moment, a fragment.

Beauclair, packed with citizens, packed with memories.

Nicole paused on the gold-inlay marble bridge, gazing out over the waters that sent her mind skidding backward into fire-lit moments of secrecy with only the moon as a witness. _The sweet taste of wine and Waverly Earp…_

With a shake of her head, Nicole pushed across the bridge and up to the palace proper. Times had changed. Years had passed. Decisions had been made -- firm, unbreakable. There would be no revisiting her choices and chances. With luck, Nicole would not have to see Waverly at all.

Then, of course, she saw her.

Nicole turned, mouth slightly agape. Waverly stood stiffly in her green and gold dress, face firm with fury, glaring down at Nicole with death in her eyes. Before Nicole could do so much as wave, Waverly retreated behind the greenhouse and was gone.

It was altogether unsurprising, but a definite stab in the gut that Nicole had no defense for.

“Duke’s waiting, Witcher,” muttered a guard. Nicole snapped from her trance and moved on.

Sure enough, Duke Earp stood lording over the land from a balcony of stone and marble. Nicole joined him, silent, waiting on his word. Guards adjusted their footing and kept their eyes locked on the infamous Witcher.

The Duke gulped back more wine before releasing a sigh.

“Women,” he muttered. “Aye, Witcher?”

Nicole said nothing.

“She’s missing. Run off, perhaps.” The Duke scowled down at the forest as if they held her there. “Find her. Bring her back.” His eyes slid to her, his gaze significant. _“Alive.”_

Focus. Nicole kept her face blank and nodded once.

The years had changed many things, perhaps, but no doubt the Duke still blamed her for Willa’s death. Curious, then, to call her to heel now. 

Unless he had no notions of rewarding her.

Unless this was all just an elaborate play to stab her in the back.

That seemed more likely than promising anything Nicole wanted.

Despite this, Nicole wouldn’t turn her back now. Not when she remembered how close Waverly had been with her mother. 

Nicole felt the jaws of the trap close around her heart and did nothing to stop it. She merely offered a half-bow to the Duke as he waved, dismissing her.

“Start in her rooms. Search the palace. Find anything of note, and bring it to me at once.”

The guards parted for Nicole with deep suspicion lingering in their eyes. Nicole ignored it, merely pushing on to the Duchess’s chambers.

Despite the outside sprawl, the inside of the palace consisted of confining mahogany-drenched hallways and painted walls that seemed to close in on her, catching her longing for the world beyond those doors. Stained windows broke open in the myriad rooms that Nicole shuffled through, trying to remember which way was which.

Nicole opened the wrong door, and a blade lodged into it, a hair's breadth from her face.

“Sorry,” Nicole muttered, trying to close the door on the sparring room.

 _“You?”_ Wynonna demanded, stomping over. “Oh, no, _you don’t get to escape!_ ” She yanked the door open from Nicole’s grip and pointed the blade at Nicole’s throat in one smooth motion. “Give me a reason not to stab you to death _right now._ ”

“The Duke summoned me,” Nicole said, voice steady with a coloring of boredom. Fire lit in Wynonna’s eyes, and she looked about to plunge the blade before Dolls caught her wrist, lowering it.

“Not worth it,” Dolls murmured, and Wynonna nodded to him.

Then Wynonna slammed her fist into Nicole’s face.

Despite her Witcher strength, Nicole rocked backward from the force and element of surprise. She crashed against the far wall, rubbing at her cheek, eyes fixed forward on Wynonna. She immediately tamped down her instinct to strike back, recognizing it would hardly be a fair fight. She’d shatter Wynonna’s skull in one blow.

“I should kill you,” Wynonna spat. “I should fucking _kill_ you right now.”

Nicole pushed from the wall to stand, raising a singular eyebrow at Wynonna’s pure fury. As long as Wynonna hated her, things would be easier. Do the job and leave. Simple.

“You touch my sister again, and I _will._ You understand? _I will.”_

Even Dolls’ gaze had gone hard. Unrelenting hostility. Nicole didn’t need her Witcher senses to know she was not welcome here, not anymore.

“I won’t,” Nicole promised. “Just direct me to the Duchess’s chambers and I’ll be gone.”

“Fuck you,” Wynonna said, and slammed the door in Nicole’s face.

Nicole gathered what remained of her wits and left, hunting for the Duchess’s rooms, memories taunting her. 

At long last, she found the room high in the palace in one of the spires. The magnificent interior stretched in a circle, books and antiques lining the walls of what was a combination of a study and a bedroom. 

Nicole took a deep breath and exhaled her senses, spreading them forth to inspect each and every corner of the room. Points of interest spiked her mind and she slowed to a crawl, turning over small trinkets and opening forbidden drawers. Everything might be a clue. Nothing would be passed over.

A locket sat on the desk. Nicole flipped it open, greeted by a portrait of a young Waverly. She paused, and the thumb of her gauntlet rubbed at the glass of its own accord.

Curious.

Why leave it behind?

Nicole set the locket back down and scanned the room. She settled down at the bed and bent down, feeling for hidden compartments until, until--

Her senses spiked. There. Nicole pulled and out came a small drawer, and within it -- the key to the mystery. A journal. She sat down at the desk and pulled it open, eager to read, before being greeted with coded language.

_Great._

Nicole resisted the urge to throw the journal from the window. She merely stood again and continued her search for any sort of key or note. Eventually, after intense scrutiny, Nicole came up empty. She stood in the center of the room and fisted her hands on her hips.

“Tell me where she went,” Nicole murmured under her breath, and began her search again. She roamed the room, looking for recent movement, until her eyes looked from the window and met a painting.

Interesting.

Nicole didn’t remember _that_ being there.

She stepped close and inspected the painted view of the lake before removing it from the wall. One motion to turn it over, and a name written in cursive: _Julian._

 _Julian,_ Nicole mouthed. An unknown. A small detail, but a detail none-the-less. It was a recent acquisition, untouched by time, and perhaps this ‘Julian’ would know a bit more about the Duchess. 

It might be nothing, but it was all Nicole had outside of the coded journal. She took both and headed down the steps.

For the second time that day (and far too frequently for Nicole’s sanity), Nicole crossed paths with Waverly Earp.

Waverly’s eyes flicked down to the painting and journal, suspicion riding her shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Waverly asked, eyes narrowed.

“What are _you_ doing?” Nicole replied, mind skipping for words and a moment to breathe. Face to face with Waverly Earp and still at a distance, an unfathomable gap between the two of them that could never be breached. But the memories stung at her soul until it cried out for something, something, and that something ---

“I live here,” Waverly said flatly, folding her arms as a barrier between them. “Explain, Witcher.”

Nicole shifted and shut her mouth on her words. She shut her eyes to breathe. Focus. Her emotions roiled like thunder until she had them in rein. She opened her eyes to a hint of curiosity in Waverly’s eyes. A singular light of hope in the distance -- a lighthouse hidden by a cloud wall, over a great sea...

“Working for the Duke,” Nicole said, voice even and emotionless.

That hope died out, and Waverly looked as though Nicole had slapped her.

 _It’s better this way,_ Nicole told herself.

Waverly looked away, blinking rapidly past mist in her eyes. Nicole ached to reach out, to wipe them away, but there was no solving what had been wrought between them.

“I’m looking for the Duchess,” Nicole said. “Do you know where she might be?”

Waverly looked at her.

 _Rage at me!_ Nicole urged. _Scream and fight! I know you can!_

Perhaps it was the bend of time. Perhaps it was what Nicole had done. But Waverly seemed to wilt in the light, a part of her vanishing behind a solid rainfall of winter-sharp mourning. 

“I-I don’t know,” Waverly murmured.

Guilt wrapped itself around Nicole’s heart and _squeezed._

“I have to go,” Waverly said quickly, retreating. She turned and hurried away.

Nicole’s mouth formed her name, but nothing came out.

Time passed, and Nicole finally moved from her spot, down back into Beauclair to plot her next move.

* * *

A furious series of knocks swung Nicole from her daze. She gripped her dagger, slowly opening the door to her tavern rooms to see the ragged face of a citizen with his hands clasped before him in a gesture of begging.

 _“Witcher!”_ he pleaded in the language of Toussaint. _“Bandits! They have my people! The Duke, he does nothing --”_

“Tell me where they are,” Nicole said evenly.

  
  


Calamity had been reigned a safe distance from the camp after a hard ride into the countryside. A perfect excuse to get out of her head, to leave the lingering thoughts of Waverly in the shadows of her mind, to remind herself why she had left Waverly in the first place.

Thunder and the rush of rain. Nicole pushed through the undergrowth and knelt, taking in the dark and the vision of the bandits. They lounged around under the tarps, murmuring words of jest and sharing laughter even as their prisoners suffered in the deluge.

A grim smile curled over Nicole’s face as she reached behind her back.

Her fingers danced along the line of the hilt.

_Silver for monsters…_

Her fist hardened, gripping.

_...and steel for humans._

Nicole drew her blade and dagger before erupting in a shadow of death. 

_“There’s something you should know,” Nicole whispered her admission in the light of the moon, quiet in Waverly’s bed._

_“What is that?”_

Nicole ripped out the throat of the sentry with her blade, decapitating the man beside in a smooth, singular motion. No cries lit the night. Nicole moved again.

_“The Cat School, the way I was raised and mutated…”_

_“...your emotions are enhanced. I know.”_

Two more men hit the mud, a wet sound of impact the only notice. Another spun, words of warning on his lips, before Nicole shoved her blade through his sternum.

_“Not just that...”_

Shouts of alarm. Nicole no longer kept to the shadows. She spun, a whirlwind of steel and blood until men were cut down like reeds before her rage.

_“...When we start killing, Waverly…”_

Nicole let loose a cry of bloodlust as she slammed her dagger into a man’s heart, ripping and tearing until her blade came loose with a spray of gore.

_“...we never, ever stop.”_

“Please--!”

The plea was cut off by a stroke of steel. Nicole moved and men died. Her blade sang with the slaughter of the bandits. Each rose in her vision and each fell, screaming, into the mud that ran with blood and rain. 

At last, the massacre was over. Nicole stood in the circle of fallen men, breathing hard, eyes wild. 

_“I’m not afraid, Nicole.”_

_“You should be.”_

Haunted faces moved from the undergrowth as the village men sought out their captured kin. They did not approach her, they did not thank her, they merely moved in stunted, frigid motions, as if they could inadvertently cause Nicole to kill again.

 _“The Red Cat,”_ they murmured. _“The killer of beasts and men.”_

Waverly had seen her. All of her.

And that is why Nicole walked away.

Nicole tipped her head back and let loose a long, anguished cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you enjoyed! if you did, PLEASE let me know with a kudos, comment, or you could even support me on Patreon! The link is in the pinned tweet of my Twitter, @sensitivepigeon. Patreons get sneak peeks, chapters, deleted scenes, etc 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> [Balala taira, varara tariga!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCAnW11ZmwM)  
> [@Sensitivepigeon](https://twitter.com/sensitivepigeon)


	2. Heartache and Woe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The investigation continues as Waverly struggles with her feelings and Nicole does Witcher things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _"For the witcher, heartless, cold,  
>  Paid in coin of gold.  
> He comes, he'll go leave, naught behind,  
> But heartache and woe."_  
> -[ Lullaby of Woe ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JFUsPfuwjpw)
> 
> ty again to the incredibly awesome @Iamthegaysmurf and Ashley for both saving my ass and helping me keep this story comprehensible!
> 
> Thanks for the wonderful comments and support for chapter 1, here is chapter 2! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> keep me waitin', anticipatin',  
> [@Sensitivepigeon](https://twitter.com/sensitivepigeon/)  
> [sensitive-pigeon.tumblr.com](https://sensitive-pigeon.tumblr.com/)

Bloodsoaked and reckless, Nicole stormed the tavern with ill-intent. Her eyes swung over the patrons that stilled in her sight, those who swallowed hard and shone sweat under firelight. A few leaned away, others glared and edged in their seats, looking for an excuse to fight. 

“Witcher?” asked the tavernkeeper.

“A drink,” Nicole said, pivoting on her heel to approach the counter. She leaned against it and gestured with one bloodied gauntlet. “I’ll have a drink.”

A woman, striking, swayed up to the bar and ordered wine. She met Nicole’s heavy gaze with her own. Dark eyes examined her closely as a smirk emerged. Nicole smiled back, more a baring of teeth, an invitation.

  
  


_“Wait--Are you sure?” Nicole asked quietly in the space between them. Waverly’s fingers traced the line of her belt and sought bare skin, making Nicole gasp. White-hot desire reflected in hazel eyes, meeting hers in a firm gaze._

_She can remember the trembling that left Waverly, replaced by the steel of her spine and her rising to meet her lips, the sweet slide of their mouths igniting something deep within._

_“Yes, Nicole…I-I want it to be_ you.”

  
  


Nicole tore her eyes away and focused on her drink. Her fingers drummed the counter as she tried to drown her memories.

The woman, however, came closer and laid a hand on Nicole’s arm, squeezing gently. 

“Witcher…”

  
  


_“Nicole!” Waverly cried, fisting Nicole’s hair as she tasted her._

  
  


“Witcher, those are hard to replace,” the tavern keeper chided.

Nicole released the cracked tankard with a murmured apology.

“I must not be feeling well,” Nicole muttered as she dropped a coin on the counter. She pushed off, ignoring the annoyed frown of the woman, and retreated to her temporary rooms.

A Witcher could forgo sleep -- but none would forgo the cleaning of their blade. Nicole sat for long moments, tending to her steel sword and dagger while her thoughts devolved to exhausted defeat.

Waverly Earp would be the death of her, that was for certain.

  
  


* * *

Nicole Haught would be the death of her, Waverly decided. 

Sunlight reflected on the lake as Waverly read the report from Fox Hollow. A troupe of bandits slain by a single Witcher, a single woman -- Nicole of Lyria. The Red Cat. Throne-breaker, some said, after the slaying of a wayward prince in Redania.

_Killer of men and monsters._

But to Waverly -- a former lover.

Waverly pushed back a rush of emotion and familiarity. Nicole had always been… _amorous_ , following a battle. She imagined Nicole bedding another woman, and the paper crumpled beneath her fingers. Enough. Nicole had left years ago, and Waverly had no claim on her wretched heart as she once did.

Shouting. Waverly drifted closer, obscured by a bush, and listened.

“While you were wasting your Gods-damned time, my _wife_ is out there!” Ward bellowed. “And you bring to me -- you bring to me a _painting?”_

Nicole’s voice, soft but firm.

“Who is Julian, Your Grace?”

“I don’t fucking know! Because unlike you -- _I do not waste my fucking time!”_

Waverly cringed back. She knew what it was like to be on the other end of those tirades. Heavy, unkind hands and unleashed fury that bit at the soul. But one glance told her of Nicole standing straight, unimpressed by the Duke’s rage.

“Each detail may be a key, Your Grace. The journal--”

“Is _meaningless!”_ the Duke roared. “Find her! Now! Or do not return to the palace, because I will have you _butchered!”_

Nicole’s mask was immaculate. She merely bowed and turned on her heel to leave. 

Waverly hid back behind the bush, thoughts racing. She had to throw Nicole off somehow. She was on the trail and wouldn’t let it go, not until her mother was found. Waverly couldn’t allow that to happen.

She felt at her choker, thumbing the release. Should she…

No, the danger was too great.

Waverly spun from her hiding place and rushed the steps, heels clicking as she struck out to follow the Witcher, to trail after the person who had torn her heart into pieces and abandoned her. 

  
  


_The sweet scent of summer drifted over the gardens as Waverly breathed in deep, inhaling the rush of the blooms around her. Under the shade of a blossoming tree, Waverly escaped the brunt of the heat that had settled to stay. Her dress, mercifully made of light cloth and elegant stitching, did not collect sweat as she lingered in the haze._

_Thoughts left no impression on her mind as she lazed against the trunk, fingers fiddling with the pages of a beaten romance novel._

_“Lady Waverly Earp,” a southerner drawled._

_Waverly’s head whipped around, only for her mouth to fall open at the sight of a Witcher._

_A Witcher -- a child taken from parents to a fortress, forced to undergo torturous ritual and mutation, until what remained was an emotionless, inhumanly powerful slayer of monsters. Wandering, dangerous nomads who were nothing more than killers for hire._

_Not just any -- her armor spoke of her Cat School origins, along with her piercing, cat-slit yellow eyes. A blue jerkin accentuated a lithe form along with an underlining of chainmail and light cloth. For agility and speed._

_Red hair and Waverly bit back a gasp at the Red Cat, Nicole of Lyria._

_Instead of slaughter, the Red Cat offered a slow bow and soft words._

_“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Grace.”_

_“I am no Duchess,” Waverly corrected gently. “Surely you do not seek the Lady Earp?”_

_“I seek you,” the Witcher said significantly, a steely gaze meeting hers that caused a delicate blush to rise on Waverly’s cheeks. “May I sit?”_

_Waverly hesitated only slightly, feeling the curve of fate in her response._

  
  


The first howls of winter had already made themselves known. The blossoming tree had faded to autumnal tones, bone-like branches swaying in a cool wind. The gardens were no less beautiful for it, as the fall flowers were in full, startling bloom.

Nicole of Lyria stood beneath the tree, utterly still. She wore no armor now, only a simple tunic and breeches.

Waverly stepped forward, and she snapped around, eyes wide and hand on a hilt before she relaxed visibly.

“Waverly,” Nicole breathed, a slight chuckle. The familiar tone spiked Waverly’s anger. “I thought maybe--”

“What are you doing here, Witcher?” Waverly asked, guarded. “Haven’t you ruined enough?”

Nicole snapped her mouth shut, tilting her head, and huffed with apparent exhaustion. “Surely we can be civil.”

“No, I don’t think we can.” Waverly took a dangerous step forward against the woman who had shattered her. “Not after what you’ve done.”

Nicole’s jaw tensed. “Waverly,” she said in warning. 

Waverly drew herself to her full height, even diminutive in the face of a Witcher. She removed her emotions from her face, falling behind the mask of an heiress to a throne she did not want.

“Leave,” Waverly said. A challenge. A demand.

“I am searching for your mother.”

_“Leave.”_

“I can’t, not without--”

“You don’t understand what you’re doing here, _Witcher_ .” Waverly’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t know what’ll happen if you _do_ find her.”

Nicole paused, eyes searching hers.

“He’ll gut you,” Waverly proclaimed. “Betray you.”

Nicole nodded. “I knew that. But your mother--”

“Is just fine,” Waverly spat. “And needs no rescuer, especially the likes of _you.”_

“Then what,” Nicole said, a hint of a snarl, not breaking eye contact to point at something on the ground, “is _that?”_

Waverly took a slow step forward, peering over the grass, before revulsion begged her to empty her stomach contents.

A man sat, disemboweled, in the rush of the decorative fountain. Ruddy waters hid most of the damage, but Waverly’s eyes could make out the torn throat, the hideous remains of his face.

“My mother’s personal guard,” Waverly breathed, kneeling beside the fallen man. She reached out, as if to touch, but Nicole caught her wrist. Their eyes met, a glare between them, before Nicole released her and she looked away. “What did this?”

“Something inhuman,” Nicole said. She felt the scratches in the rocks and grunted. “Here. Claws.” She sniffed. “Last night. Meant for us to find it, perhaps.” Nicole gestured to the tree above. “Significant.”

“But no one knew…”

Nicole snorted and stood. _“Everyone_ knew, Waverly.”

Waverly flushed red. The reminder of her mistakes being known to everyone...

“Waverly?” a voice called.

In an instant, Waverly knew she could hurt the Witcher. Hurt Nicole. Get back for those years of abandonment, of her leaving Waverly behind. 

And hopefully, make her angry enough to give up.

“Hardy!” Waverly said brightly, standing, rushing to his side before he saw the body. He halted with the force of her hug and surprising affection. “How wonderful to see you!”

There was a lot of effort in that lie. Nicole gazed on in confusion and Waverly ignored her.

“Uh, hey,” Champ said awkwardly, glancing between the two of them before he settled on Nicole. “W-Witcher?”

Waverly cuddled closer, allowing his arm to claim her in a decidedly familiar embrace, before gracefully steering him away. “Not important! Let’s take a walk, beloved, and talk of our engagement.”

As they moved away, Waverly could feel Nicole’s dark gaze following her.

Nicole resisted the urge to bury her fist into the tree. Instead, with careful breathing, she managed to make it to the forest before screaming.

* * *

Engaged.

_Focus, Nicole._

But… _engaged._

Nicole felt as if she had ground her teeth to nubs. She did not, under any circumstances, wish to return to Beauclair -- but her contract demanded it. Folk made way for her, noting her deadly expression, and kept their ill-words to themselves. Her rage simmered beneath the surface. That _boy-man_ , touching _Waverly_ \--

Enough.

The door almost broke under her hand as Nicole shoved it open. The shopkeep startled in place, fear riding his eyes as he gazed upon the Witcher who had stormed his store. Delicate artistry shook on their stands, paintings swaying with the force of entry.

“H-How can I--”

“Identify this.” Nicole slapped the painting of the lake on the counter. “Now.”

“Surely, surely,” he muttered, inspecting it closely. “Sure, yes. I will do so, I will -- Julian’s work. Yes, quite.”

“And who is Julian? Where does he live?”

“Reclusive sort. Lives, ah…” he paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know where he lives.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes. “No?”

“No.”

“You don’t know where he lives.”

“...No.”

“But he’s a reclusive sort.”

“I-I’d assume so…” The shopkeeper coughed and adjusted his collar. “Just rumors, you see.”

Nicole rolled her eyes and gestured three letters: A, X, I. Her _Axii_ sign ignited as the gesture completed, making the shopkeeper’s mouth shut with an audible _click._

“Just tell me where he lives,” Nicole said.

“North of Flovive, in the woods,” came the dazed response.

“And how do I find him?”

“Southern fork in the road. Go to the end of the river and enter the cave.”

“And why, exactly, did you not tell me this?”

“Lady Waverly Earp told me not to.”

Nicole paused, head tilted. Interesting. Waverly wanted her to leave and turn aside, yet the murder of the personal guard told Nicole things were more dire than they seemed. Conclusions, questions, assumptions -- Nicole pushed them down. Find the trail. Find her mother. Complete the contract.

Nicole pushed out into daylight, allowing the shopkeep to return to his own mind. She had to prepare for anything. The claws, the location, the injuries -- Nicole headed straight for the Alchemist’s shop.

Usually, she brewed her own, but since _someone_ had shoved her through a _portal_ \-- she didn’t exactly have all of her supplies topped up. One quick stroll to the local Alchemist should solve it. 

Low murmurs of her nickname and prayers to higher powers trailed Nicole as she passed. The sun moved to its highest height, the bell tolling, the autumnal breeze the only savior from the overwhelming heat. The Alchemist’s shop was fairly easy to find, a brilliant shop-sign jutting from a corner store with assorted herbs placed outside.

Nicole entered to a curious silence. The shopkeeper wasn’t here. Gently, Nicole opened her Witcher senses and immediately regretted it.

Moaning.

Nicole clapped her ears at once.

_“Fuck -- harder!”_

_“God, yes - I’m coming, I’m--”_

Nicole walked back outside. She stood there for a long while, breathing in and out in exhausted patience, before pivoting back inside.

This time, she knocked on the counter. Loudly. A thump and hurried footsteps, muttered cursing, a quick argument -- and a familiar woman came storming down the stairs with Wynonna in tow. 

Nicole’s eyebrows skyrocketed. _“Wynonna?”_ Nicole’s eyes flicked. _“Rosita?”_

“Oh, hey, it’s you,” Rosita drawled with maximum enthusiasm. “Great.”

“Yeah, uh--”

“Shut the fuck up,” Wynonna said in advance. She shoved past Nicole into the street, offering no more words.

“Right.” Nicole cleared her throat and fixed her eyes on Rosita. “Can I get some supplies?”

“Depends.” Rosita narrowed her eyes and leaned forward over the counter. “If you’re going to chug poison until you leave, that would be fine. Otherwise, I don’t think so.”

“I thought the older woman--"

“Died a year ago. I took over.” Rosita gestured. “And?”

Nicole bit back a sharp retort. She breathed in the realization that it was only for their care of Waverly, of what Nicole had done to her, that sparked this conflict. Anger for Waverly. She could understand that.

But she was getting _really_ tired of everyone walking over her.

“If you want me gone faster, you’ll help me.” Nicole leaned onto the counter, eyeing Rosita with a face devoid of emotion until she visibly swallowed. Nicole flicked a piece of paper, getting a flinch in response. “Here’s a list.”

Rosita glared but took the list regardless. She vanished into the backroom for long moments as Nicole drummed a rhythm on the table, thinking. She smoothed her thoughts into a level of meditation.

Soon enough, Rosita emerged with a satchel of the required potions. Nicole dropped coin and took the satchel without a word, breaking back into the city proper under the sweltering sun. 

Enough of this. She’d get the job done and be out of here before week’s end.

Nicole headed down to the harbor and hailed a boatmaster. She was soon coasting along the lake, trying to outpace thoughts that whatever lingered beneath the surface of this mystery would come to a head -- and soon.

* * *

The cave was poorly hidden in the slanting of the sun. Nicole moved slowly in the underbrush, careful to be soundless. It came naturally to her, a predator’s grace, as she slinked into the shadows of the entryway. Darkness met her cat-like eyes and they adjusted until she could see the interior within.

Nothing but rock. Nicole crept in deeper, drawing her dagger in a whisper. A shadow arced high on the wall ahead, and Nicole crouched down behind a collection of stalagmites, waiting. 

“You can come out of the shadows, Witcher,” a familiar voice called. 

Damn. Nicole kept a grip on her dagger as she turned to face down Doc. He glowered at her from his position against the wall with his arms folded. He gestured. “Head on in. Maybe you’ll find something of use.”

Nicole kept her eyes locked on him as she prowled across the room, ready for any aggression. He merely looked amused. 

“My advice?” He tipped his triangular hat and vanished. “Keep Waverly out of it.”

Nicole narrowed her eyes at the space he had left, thoughts turning. Keep Waverly out of what, exactly?

Deeper into the shadows and to the left. Nicole’s nose caught the coppery scent of blood, and she lowered herself further, sliding between darkness, hoping to catch anything off guard. But as she found the well-hidden entrance to another opening within the cave, she noted first that nothing living lingered within.

Unfinished paintings sat on abandoned easels. Those that had not been knocked over had been slashed open by claws, relentlessly trashed like the rest of the ramshackle living area. Blood spray colored the walls beyond a fallen body torn open by an unknown menace. Nicole approached with slow, deliberate movements, hand on her medallion and waiting for the slightest vibration.

Nothing. But that didn’t mean monsters weren’t nearby. After all, it didn’t move for Doc and his ilk.

A struggle painted itself on the gravel. Nicole matched steps, imagining the battle in her mind. It had been immense, but quick. Burns coated parts of the ground, announcing the dead man was likely a mage -- or had battled a mage. They cast in several areas, as if the caster had been reckless, or harried by some opponent capable of inhuman speeds.

The body was of a gentleman with grey hair. He wore pure white robes, stained red by his own blood. Nicole turned his face, inspecting it closely. Julian, perhaps? Nicole carefully extracted a ring from his finger, a niggling thought that perhaps Waverly might know. After all, she had tried to throw a dagger in Nicole’s plans. 

She knew _something_.

Nicole fisted the ring and stood, leaving the body behind and emerging into the main entryway. With Doc gone, Nicole let out a breath. Fighting Doc would have been an outright loss, or a harrowingly close victory. The man had always been close to Waverly.

_Keep Waverly out of it._

Not when she knew more than she let on. Not when she was _interfering._

Nicole cursed and made her way from the cave. 

* * *

Waverly sat in the gathering dusk and looked on, bored, as the duelists engaged in the center of the sparring ring. Other fighters lounged around, chatting and joking, barely watching the view of the battle before them. 

It was hardly a fight.

Despite anything else, Lord Hardy James knew how to duel. He swung with the force of his next blow, sending his opponent into the sand.

_A clash of blades and harsh breathing. Footsteps in sand, pacing, before a leap forward to embrace in violence again and again. Quick strikes and practiced ease met relentless blows driven by passion._

_Nicole matched it, leaping around to cast her dagger forward in an arching slash. It collided with another before Nicole parted again in a step-back move to create distance._

_Waverly moved like a storm, dashing forward to meet Nicole’s defense, harrying her into a backward motion. Nicole kept her distance, parrying with excellent grace, before Waverly pulled back to catch her breath._

_A secret weapon. Waverly let loose a broad smile, and Nicole softened visibly, breathing in the moment._

_Waverly’s leg lashed out and collided with hers. Nicole hit the dirt hard with the wind knocked from her lungs._

_Waverly Earp preened in the light, looking down at Nicole in the dust._

_“You cheated,” Nicole accused when she got her breath back._

_“You’re too soft on me,” Waverly chided gently as Nicole rose and dusted herself off. “Others won’t be, Nicole.” She nudged her. “Again.” Nicole cast her a dubious glance, noting the thin sheen of sweat over Waverly’s face, her panting. “Please?”_

_Nicole nodded once at that smile._

_“Okay.”_

  
  


Chrissy, the Ducal Page, let out an exhausted sigh. “Another one bites the dust,” she muttered.

“What?” Waverly asked distantly. 

“Nothing.” Chrissy nudged her. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere."

“Liar. I saw that look on your face.” 

“What look?”

“The one I haven’t seen for years.”

That was the wrong thing to say, and Chrissy winced as Waverly gave her a deathly scowl. She bit back her harsh words and reminded herself that Chrissy didn’t hate Nicole as she did. She didn’t quite understand the deep bowels of rage that Waverly held inside her.

Infuriatingly, Chrissy didn’t back down. 

“She has rooms in the city, you know. Could find her, talk it out at the Bells of Beauclair.”

_The House of Pleasure._

Waverly looked ready to tear her head off, and Chrissy relented with a gesture of surrender.

“Waves,” Champ whinged as he approached. “Were you not paying attention?”

Waverly snapped out of it and rose to meet him. “I was. It was...good.”

_Nothing compared to Nicole._

The thought was trampled mercilessly.

“Think I could take on that Witcher chick?” He flexed.

“Sure, Champ,” Waverly offered instead of outright laughter, rounding the fence to lay a hand on his arm. Despite everything, he was a distraction. A decent enough one. “Let’s go have dinner.”

Chrissy gave her a reproachful look that Waverly promptly ignored. She moved with Champ, past the outskirts of the sparring arena and back into a comfortable lie. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it? She could do what she wanted, certainly. Champ could hardly keep up with her in conversations, let alone ruin her plans. Marrying him would give her some breathing room from the palace, away from her father.

 _Away from Nicole_ , a voice whispered.

Shut it. That was a good thing, Waverly told herself despite the sinking feeling in her gut. Nicole was a coward, a rake, and Waverly would never stand for marrying the likes of the Witcher.

At Champ’s temporary house in Beauclair, Waverly waited in the dining room as servants prepared the table for a private dinner and Champ changed upstairs. She thought briefly of joining him, but the thought brought a sense of revulsion. That was weird. Waverly shook off the feeling but did not join him.

At last, he arrived in his proper dining wear. Waverly looked on wearily. Some past part of her had thought him dashing and impressive, but that part of her seemed quiet, muted. He plopped into his chair and slovenly adjusted a napkin.

“Faster, would you?” Champ called at the serving women. He gave a lingering stare at one’s ass, and Waverly didn’t bother to correct him.

  
  


_Nicole pulled her chair out for her, allowing Waverly to sink into it with a smile. She gave Waverly’s shoulder a soft squeeze, her fingers briefly making contact with the bare skin of her collarbone, leaving a burning sensation in their wake._

_In one smooth motion, Nicole sat across from her, meeting her gaze with a slow-spreading smirk, her eyes dancing in firelight._

_“What?” Waverly asked, biting back a giggle with a sip of wine. Nicole’s look was heavy, different. It spoke of untold promises and a steady respect._

_“You look beautiful tonight,” Nicole said easily, as if it were the simplest fact in the world. Waverly almost spat out her drink, choking on air. Nicole half-rose, but Waverly gestured for her to sit._

_“Sorry -- was it something I said?”_

  
  


“Waverly.” Champ waved a hand in her face. “Hello?”

“What?” Waverly asked, blinking from her trance. Her face ran red. “What was it?”

“I asked what you’d like to eat, Lady Waverly Earp,” the garcon pronounced slowly. “What will it be?”

“A simple salad, please,” Waverly said. He bowed graciously. “Thank you so much.”

 _Get out of my head!_ Waverly shouted at a mental image of Nicole. _These feelings are useless!_

Slowly, Waverly began to realize she hadn’t quite moved on. Hopefully, however, her mention of her engagement to Champ would send Nicole from her sight for good. There would be no more messy conversations. The Witcher would turn from her mission.

Except that wasn’t true, was it?

Waverly knew many things, and she knew Nicole. Nicole wouldn’t let this go so easily. Waverly would be forced to hide in the palace, behind her father’s decree, and trust that Nicole wouldn’t risk it. Not like she had all those years ago, sliding up the secret staircase right into Waverly’s bed.

Their dinner proceeded with minimal conversation, which irked Waverly. She had to continuously quash any and all thought of Nicole.

Finally, with dinner set aside, Champ stood. Waverly matched him and lingered close enough so he could messily press his lips to hers.

Her stomach fought, and Waverly pushed it down.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Champ said, swinging an arm around Waverly and leading them up. Waverly couldn’t help the trembling of her hands, the unease that sat within her bones. 

_Stop it!_

Champ undressed himself without waiting for Waverly’s approval. She quickly ducked into the bathroom to hide herself away. She hugged herself close, staring into the mirror.

_What is wrong with me?_

Waverly shook her head. She had to back out. She couldn’t do this. Not when she felt close to nausea at the mere thought of him touching her.

“Champ,” Waverly said aloud, before calling. “Champ?”

Silence.

Waverly furrowed her brow and opened the door. 

Slowly, very slowly, she shut the door.

_Champ was dead._

  
  
  
  


Nicole let herself into her rooms and stopped short, door open. Shae sat in a corner, perusing the coded journal, cast in the light of dusk. At Nicole’s entry, she raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Nicole?”

“Shae.” Nicole shut the door behind her. “Care to apologize for your portal trick?”

“Nope.” Shae set the journal aside and rose elegantly, her dress falling in slanting curves around her body. Nicole looked away, her jaw set. “What have you found so far?”

“A painting, that journal, and two dead men.” Nicole folded her arms and glanced back at Shae, but she stood simply without any alluring cast to her gaze. Nicole sighed. “And more liars than I can count.” With narrowed eyes, Nicole pressed her questions. “Why did you send me here to deal with that man and his crusade against me?”

“Because you have something here you left behind,” Shae explained gently. “Someone that didn’t deserve what happened to her.”

Nicole stared hard. “I made my choices.”

“And they can be undone.”

“But a dead woman can’t come back to life,” Nicole snapped. “Willa is dead, Shae. I made sure of it. What will Waverly do when she finds out?”

“Willa deserved her fate and worse.” Shae shrugged, fingers trailing over the bedpost. “Maybe _Waverly_ deserves that choice herself, don’t you think?” 

A soft knock on the door and Nicole stiffened, turning with her dagger drawn. Shae stopped her with a hand on her chest. “Dinner, Nicole. Do you still eat?”

“Sometimes,” Nicole grumbled, allowing Shae to open the door to a young garcon carrying plates. They were served at the small side table and the garcon vanished behind a closed door as swiftly as he had arrived.

“The Bells of Beauclair, the House of Pleasure,” Shae remarked, folding into her seat to dine. She didn’t wait for Nicole, who huffed to herself. “Have you had…”

“No,” Nicole admitted as she sat. “Not that it’s any of your business,” Nicole added, no bite to her tone. Shae only gave a knowing smirk. 

Fine roasted meats vanished quickly, followed by generous amounts of wine. Nicole undid the top straps of her tunic, sighing as she sat back in her chair. Easy silence lingered between the pair of them before Shae broke it again.

“When are you planning to talk to her again?”

“Never, if I can help it,” Nicole said behind her glass. “I’ve been banished from the palace. She’s probably up there, hiding from me.”

  
  
  


Waverly bit back a scream. She shoved her fist into her mouth to cover any sound and pulled open the door again to the messy scene before her. Champ had been ruined by some silent assailant, leaving the room a complete bloodbath. 

Slowly, she stepped out into the room. Her hand felt at her hidden dagger. Silver and clean, just how Nicole had instructed. 

“Hello, Waverly,” a familiar voice greeted. Waverly spun with her blade out and found it pressed against Tucker Gardner, who stood far too close for her liking. A slow, salacious smile coiled across his face. “Miss me?”

  
  
  
  


“Banished already,” Shae murmured, obviously impressed. “So this painting…”

“Led to a dead man. A mage.” Nicole shook her head. “Waverly’s doing her damndest to make sure I don’t find her mother, which doesn’t make sense.”

“Ward’s a harsh man. Is it possible her mother simply left?”

“Without Waverly?” Nicole hummed. “Unlikely. Plus, we found a dead palace guard.”

“She’s obviously covering for _something_ along those lines.”

Nicole gestured with her chin. “Find anything in the journal?”

“Some familiar symbols, that’s all.” Shae templed her hands. “Mage’s work.”

“This Julian was involved somehow. A confidant? A teacher? A lover?” Nicole leaned onto the table, inspecting the journal, flipping through the pages. Nothing appeared to her and she grunted. 

  
  
  


Waverly raised her arm to stab but Tucker grabbed it, twisting harshly until the dagger fell from her grip. This time, she did scream. He lunged forward with his mouth open, hideously changing until his teeth were as long as her fingers and sharper than her blade. He leaned in, biting at her throat, tearing at the flesh until blood ran free into his maw.

Her choker fell to the floor.

  
  
  
  


“Met Doc again. Told me to leave Waverly out of it,” Nicole said after a period of silence.

“Plots on plots.” Shae swirled her drink, smiling. “Perfect for Nicole, isn’t it? _Thronebreaker_.”

Nicole rolled her eyes. “That prince had it coming.”

“Yet the plot thickens, and it seems as though the Duchess is deeply involved in something she shouldn’t be.”

“Politics were always _your_ strong suit,” Nicole cast with a glare.

“Don’t play dumb, Nicole. It doesn’t suit you.” Shae settled her glass on the table.

  
  
  


A thunder upon reality and Waverly’s next scream pierced the air until Tucker stumbled back, covering his ears from the shrieking sound of unleashed magic. 

Then, as soon as it began, it stopped.

  
  
  
  
  


“Speak to Waverly,” Shae suggested flatly, almost an order.

“No,” Nicole said stubbornly, glowering. “I won’t be seeing her again. Once I find the Duchess, get her out of her mess, and settle her back into the palace -- that’ll be it. No more Waverly.”

That was before Waverly appeared from nowhere.

She swayed dangerously, blood pouring from her throat. Both stood at once, reaching, but it was Nicole who caught her and held her close. 

“Waverly!” Nicole urged, feeling at the injury. Shae batted her hands away and weaved her magic, already working to keep Waverly stable. “Waverly, _what happened?”_

“I-I,” Waverly gasped, her fingers digging into Nicole’s shirt. Her eyes were misted with tears. “I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Stop her from talking,” Shae said. Her fingers pressed against the wound and Waverly bit back another scream.

Nicole leaned in, whispering assurances, brushing back bloodied hair from her tear-drenched face. Her heart cracked at the feeling of Waverly in her arms, so frail, so weak. _Dying._ Nicole ground her teeth to fight back her own emotions.

No -- _No._ Shae would save her. 

The magic clicked home and expanded across Waverly’s skin until the wound melded back together. There would be no cure for the amount of blood lost. Waverly blinked blearily, fading to black.

“Waverly. _Waves._ Stay with me.” Nicole almost shook her, but Waverly was gone.

Shae put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Let her. She’ll need some rest, but she’ll recover.”

Nicole looked around the room for any signs of a portal. “How did she…” Nicole shook her head. “She’s never had magic. She’s _never…”_

“Never what?” Shae urged.

“Never been taught.” Nicole gently laid Waverly on the bed, stepping back. “How did she do that?”

“I don’t know,” Shae said. “But I have suspicions.”

“This doesn’t make sense. If she had been born with magic, she’d be insane by now. Mad from it. She wouldn’t be able to…”

“Unless she’s not what we think she is.” Shae leaned in, feeling at her pulse. “Steady. Strong.” She turned. “Do you know a mage who can throw open a portal during an assault like that?”

Nicole stared. “Nobody but you.”

“But she’s not me.” Shae placed a hand to her chest. “Trained from birth, crafted into sorcery. She’s human. There is no illusion. She’s a Duke’s daughter.” Shae halted. “Unless she’s not.”

 _“What?”_

“I see it.” Shae folded her arms. “Ward is a hard man. If I was Michelle, I’d take another. A kinder one. Perhaps a wanderer, a man of mystique…”

“You can’t possibly be implying that it’s…” Nicole halted, staring down at Waverly. 

“Elder Blood,” they both breathed.

Nicole shook her head in disbelief. _Elder Blood._ Crafted from a long line of Elves to produce an heir unlike any other, with power surpassing that of the greatest mages. That was, until the Elven mother laid with a human all those years ago…

Nicole pressed a hand to her forehead. “This can’t be it. This can’t be it, Shae. That’s a curse, not a boon. That’s desolation. _Her fate cannot be desolation._ ” 

“Focus, Nicole,” Shae said. “We need to find who did this to her. We need to find out how she’s hidden it this long, and what exactly happened to Michelle Earp and her _real_ father.”

“We can’t do that until she wakes.” Nicole flicked her eyes out to the rising moon. “I’ll keep watch. All night, if I have to.”

Shae nodded, squeezing Nicole’s shoulder in reassurance. “I’ll check the city and the palace. See if anyone else has been attacked or knew where she was last.”

Nicole nodded as Shae’s hand fell away with a last lingering grasp. The door shut, and she was gone.

Alone, Nicole stood against the night, waiting for Waverly Earp to wake.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

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